Friday, July 24, 2009

we are shitty

Tired but cannot sleep, cannot eat, this modern man feels incomplete. We are in Gethsemane, but historically the smell of burning shit was real, a sense you could feel – incinerated garbage dead bodies and banana peels. Big box stores advertizing a deal, for a steal on that new camera or an album from Santana; brand names painstakingly crafted to master you, even the Thames was trademarked to harass attitudes, lasso public opinion, but when you skin it it's just bad television from Britain.

All your feelings have been digitized, a sinister artifice that serves to quantize existence into a product, lot numbers on cucumbers, no buying directly deftly capitalized markets calculated, analyzed. I believe at our core we all want to feel better, not unlike that kid from school we made fun of, a bed wetter; psychologically he's probably scarred for life, self esteem eroded like a scalp infested with head-lice. Headlights everywhere, gas guzzling smothering exhaust producing a losing battle between mama earth and the apocalyptic dirt storm we're speeding towards like an escaped murderer.

Seeing is believing and our species is deceiving and greedy; turn on the TV, you'll see American Idol and Oprah Winfrey. Tasteless, baseless, racist and expensive, versus the Renaissance our culture is defenceless. Message after message knocking you senseless, quantifying intelligence as the sole domain of Mensa. I'll betcha it all grinds to a halt in the next fifty years, I'll be seventy three then if I haven't brought my family to tears with a bullet to the head, financially in the red; repeating things inarticulately that have already been said.

When I say I repeat myself, I don't mean my mental health, what I'm saying is that all through history great man have been praying to the power of reason to end this black season but the power of humanity is that all we see are steam-engines and industry. When I say inarticulately I mean, I have no audience, no hotties to swoon or politicians to woo; the internet has dissolved any pedestal for expression - so mediocrity, including my own, gets the same crowd as Socrates.

It's like the world is mocking me; everything I figure out somebody else has already done something about, and if they didn't, it was because they couldn't; someone more powerful told us we shouldn't, so we didn't because when they stick a gun to your temple you think about what you've got to lose and politics doesn't seem so simple, but the truth is we're the world's special pimple pus full to the brim from lives full of sins against our brothers and mother earth; our waistbands barely stretching around our McDonald's stuffed girth.



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